


Let's Ride The Vibrations

by FallingOutOfTouch (FallingOutofTouch)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 18:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13665135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingOutofTouch/pseuds/FallingOutOfTouch
Summary: He twists the cup to read the words, it says: just black for Mr. Frowns-a-lot. Below those words the barista has scrawled his name, Patrick, and a phone number.





	Let's Ride The Vibrations

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This fic would not be as clean as it is without the help of @alittlebitobssessed on Tumblr. And this fic would not have even gotten off the ground without Kelsey, @polarilou, who let me shout and cry to her about it for the past couple of months. You two are amazing and I appreciate both of you. This is my first fic for this fandom, but I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you enjoy it! You can find me on Tumblr @prettypattykane where I cry hysterically over ever feature of Patrick's face. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! 
> 
> The title is from "Location" by Khalid

Mark is late.

Seabs has always told Jonny that he expects too much from people. _No one can ever live up to all the expectations in that head of yours, Taze._

But Jonny wanted people to be better. Do better. And Mark is fucking late. He counts to ten to slow the fast frustrated beat of his heart and decides since he’s standing in a foot of snow outside of the coffee shop – Mark’s idea – he might as well go in.

Jonny shivers when he steps inside the coffee shop; his body working to warm itself after facing the chill of winter in the city. He unwraps the thick wool scarf from around his neck and tucks it into the pocket of his coat as he kicks the excess snow from his boots. Bold lettering on the mat beneath his feet catches his eye and he looks down to read the words, “where have you bean,” and small coffee bean shaped dots line the edge of the mat. He laughs softly and continues into the shop. The theme is simple, dark walls with red accents and different coffee related knick-knacks scattered around the room. The most ostentatious feature is a wall-sized chalkboard behind the counter.

His eyes flit around the room looking for the unkempt mass of brown hair that belongs to Mark, a student from his Ethics course. They’re supposed to be meeting to discuss their project for the final, but Jonny doesn’t see him. With a sigh, he glances down at his watch and realizes he’s a few minutes early. He’s already annoyed by the prospect of working on a group project – having thought he’d left that sort of thing back in high school. Jonny hates the thought of being paired with someone who wasn’t as disciplined as him, or someone who showed up on time instead of early.

The bell above the shop door rings behind him and he jumps, quickly moving out of the way of the incoming customer. He frowns when he sees it’s not Mark. It’s an older woman who shoots him a glare when she sees the frown he’s accidentally directed at her. The cold chill of embarrassment shoots down his spine and he can feel his entire face heating. He follows her to the counter and tries to keep his expression open and friendly when she looks back at him over her shoulder. She just shakes her head at him and places her order with the barista behind the counter. Jonny ignores the voice is his head, that sounds too much like his mother, screaming at him to apologize and turns his focus to the wall-sized chalkboard.

Unfortunately, the absolute mess of the chalkboard does nothing to calm his nerves. He stares in awe at the disaster in front of him. Whoever wrote everything had truly terrible handwriting; most of the words are slanted and the sizes of the letters vary as if the person didn’t take into account how much space they had to work with. Jonny curls his hands into fists to stave off the urge to erase everything and rewrite it.

And Jonny has absolutely no idea what any of it means. What the fuck is a _Euphonic Estuary_? His stomach rolls just thinking about what terrible flavor combinations could produce something with such a superfluous name.

“I didn’t know it was possible to look that constipated. You came to the right place, at least.”

Jonny startles at the unfamiliar voice and looks away from the menu to stare at the man behind the counter; the guy is waiting for Jonny’s order with his arms folded over his chest. “Excuse me?” He finds himself asking.

“You were pretty locked in there, man. I can help if you’re having trouble,” the barista says, a small quirk to his lips.

Jonny feels the corners of his mouth pulling down into an even deeper frown. He’s a little stunned by the employee’s brazenness. “That’s one way to greet someone, I guess.”

The barista smiles lazily at him, his full pink lips are so chapped Jonny worries they might split if he smiles any wider. “I don’t need your aneurysm on my conscience.” His voice is deep and smooth and it punches Jonny right in the gut. He looks at Jonny from underneath the brim of his baseball cap and Jonny’s breathe stutters at the shocking blue of the man’s eyes. They’re framed by dark blonde eyebrows and long dark lashes. The man’s pursing his lips and Jonny can see the faint hint of a dimple in his cheek.

Jonny shakes his head, trying to regroup. He trains his eyes back on the menu behind the barista but it doesn’t make any more sense the second time around. He huffs. “I’ll just have black.”

The man looks at Jonny strangely, almost as if he’s disappointed in Jonny’s order. “Just black?” He asks.

Who’s having trouble now, Jonny thinks. “Yes,” he says, drawing out the s at the end.

The barista mouths _okay_ and pulls a marker from the pocket of his apron to scribble something on a paper cup.

“What?” Jonny asks. He’s feeling weirdly defensive about the man’s reaction. He feels almost challenged and Jonny is never one to bow out of – or lose – a challenge. He levels a dark look at the man.

The barista barely reacts, just shrugs and says, “I thought you’d be a little more adventurous than that.”

Jonny tenses. “Well if you’d use normal names for your coffees maybe I could have found something worth trying. Forgive me for not wanting to test my luck on whatever the hell a _Valiant Volcano_ is.”

The man coughs to disguise a laugh and Jonny imagine himself pulling the guy over the counter by the collar of his t-shirt. “Alright alright,” the barista raises his hands in surrender; the marker tucked in between his middle and index fingers. “Let me make this up for you. Give me like five seconds.”

Jonny rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. He has impeccable radar for sarcasm and bullshit and the barista is radiating it. He looks at a strange doodle of a cat singing to a bird over the man’s shoulder until he’s sure the man’s started on his coffee. When it’s safe he moves his eyes to watch the barista work behind the counter. He’s always had a of respect for baristas, he can barely remember the name of half his professors, so there’s no way he could memorize all the different ways to brew a cup of coffee. Or at least a _good_ cup of coffee. Seabs banned Jonny from making coffee after he’d wound up with a mouthful of coffee grains because Jonny’d forgotten that coffee machines require filters. In Jonny’s defense he’d just woken up and he didn’t know how anyone was supposed to function normally before noon, nevertheless work machinery.

The barista pulls and twists levers and the black t-shirt he’s wearing bunches nicely across his shoulders as he moves. The red cap he’s wearing pulls out the red tint in the blonde curls that escape from underneath the hat. Jonny imagine the mess his curls must be under the cap and smiles briefly to himself. He has a matching apron knotted around the back of his neck and his waist. The man keeps his tongue pressed into his cheek as he works – Jonny watches as the stretching from the movement cause his dimple to disappear. Jonny was unaware that it took this much effort to make a black coffee. He gets lost in his study of the barista and startles when there’s suddenly a cup in his face; the barista has him arm held out offering Jonny the coffee. When Jonny takes it the man gives him made-for-TV smile – both side of his face dimpling – and says, “Thank you for visiting and have a brew-tiful day.”

“Jesus,” Jonny says. “Is that a required valediction?”

The man’s eyes light up at Jonny’s words, his eyebrows disappearing under the brim of his hat. “Oh I like that, _valediction_ , you should put it in our suggestion box,” the man says pointing toward the other end of the counter.

Jonny looks to where he’s gesturing and eyes the box suspiciously. It’s made from used Popsicle sticks – the stain of the flavor still marring some of the wood. He wonders who dedicated themselves to eating that many popsicles to make a messily thrown together box, then he thinks about the barista with his lips wrapped around a cherry Popsicle and so he stops his train of thought abruptly. “I’ll think about it,” he says.

Jonny steps to the side in case some else wants to order and twists his cup so can take a sip. The drink slides down his throat and warms him and it’s actually really fucking good. He wraps both hands around the cup and just revels in the way it heats his still-cold fingers. He forgot about the barista scribbling on it until he lowers the cup and catches messy black lettering on one side of it; he knows who wrote the menu on the chalkboard now. He twists the cup to read the words, it says: **just black for Mr. Frowns-a-lot**. Below those words the barista has scrawled his name, Patrick, and a phone number. Jonny freezes with the cup held in front of him; he can feel the tips of his ears getting warm which means his entire face is red by this point. Jonny doesn’t know what’s more shocking, the lame ass name-calling or the fact that the man might actually be interested in Jonny.

He turns wide eyes to the barista, Patrick, and the other man is smirking at him; his eyes bright and so blue Jonny has to take a step back. He stutters out a quick goodbye and then he’s tripping over himself to get out of the door.

Halfway down the block he remembers Mark but there’s no way he can go back now. He takes out his phone and shoots Mark a text telling him he won’t be able to make it. He gulps down the rest of his coffee and pitches it into a nearby trashcan. With free hands he pulls his beanie lower over his ears and makes the trek back to his apartment.

*

Seabs is sitting in his boxers with an Xbox controller between his hands focused on the flat screen when Jonny walks into their place. He pulls off his boots at the front door and throws his coat on their makeshift coat rack – it’s really just a god awful lamp with eight light bulbs that Jonny’s ex had given him for their last Christmas together. It used to stand in the corner of his bedroom but he’d woken up one night and nearly pissed himself thinking it was a mutated arachnid. He’d placed it by the door before he left for school that morning, intending to throw it out when he got back home, but Seabs had hung his jacket on it and it had just stuck.

“Jesus,” Jonny says, throwing a hand up to block Seabs’s too-naked body from view. “How hard is it to keep your damn clothes on?”

Seabs grunts from the coach and waves a hand dismissively in Jonny’s direction. “You act like I haven’t woken up to you buck-ass-naked in the kitchen trying to toast a tortilla.”

“Fuck you. That was one time and I was drunk.”

“You had like two shots of tequila and a dos, you lightweight piece of shit.”

Jonny rolls his eyes and attempts to swat the back of Seabs head as he passes the couch, but the other man smoothly ducks the hit – not even looking in Jonny’s direction. Jonny’s legs get tangled in a discarded pair of jeans lying in the doorway of the kitchen and he stumbles so hard he has to throw a hand out to the wall to keep him from face planting into the floor. “Are you serious, asshole? At least undress in your own fucking room,” he says, aggressively kicking the jeans away from him.

Seabs mumbles something Jonny can’t make out and throws a middle finger in the air. Jonny shakes his head and pushed the rest of Seabs’ errant clothing into a pile by the edge of the couch. Jonny isn’t the cleanest person, his room overrun with empty water bottles and the last time he’d looked under his bed he’d regretted it, but at least his mess was contained within his own space. Seabs just threw shit wherever he saw fit and then never fucking cleaned up after himself. He’s actually a terrible roommate, but Jonny can’t imagine living with anyone else. Seabs never complains about Jonny taking everything too seriously and Jonny chooses to actively ignore that character flaws that drive Seabs to never take _anything_ seriously.

In the kitchen he grabs a water bottle and drains it before tossing it loudly into the trashcan beside the counter. He reopens the fridge to stare distractedly at the dwindling contents, contemplating what items he can throw together.

“Oooh,” Seabs says – extending the vowel. “Look who can pick up after himself?”

“Yeah you should try it sometime,” Jonny shouts over his shoulder.

He can hear Seabs mumbling in the other room but he chooses to ignore it. He’s so high strung today he might find himself on the other end of a wrestling match he definitely couldn’t win. And he didn’t want to explain another hole in the wall to their landlord.

He can hear the sounds of Seabs’ game suddenly go quiet. The sound of the fridge opening is like a call to supper for his roommate; like Jonny is standing in the middle of the kitchen beating on a metal bell. Jonny turns to the doorway to see Seabs walking into the kitchen, scratching at his beard. “What are you making?” He asks.

“Nothing I’m willing to share,” Jonny says, deciding to just throw together a sandwich. “I’ve been visually attacked by your pasty-ass chest and nearly twisted my neck on the pants you left in the floor. Make your own shit.”

Seabs pouts at Jonny but the expression isn’t endearing. Jonny levels him with what he hopes is an incredibly unimpressed expression. It must work because Seabs sighs and tells him to move over. Jonny scoots down the counter to make room for Seabs to stand beside him; their kitchen isn’t tiny but it’s not large enough to comfortably fit two grown men – and Jonny doesn’t want to be hit with Seabs bony elbows. Jonny will never understand how someone can be so muscular yet have such sharp joints. A mystery for the ages.

“So,” Seabs says, his spoon dug into the mayonnaise jar. “What happened?”

Jonny’s face twists in disgust at Seabs’ sandwich making practices and he shrugs. “Nothing, you should know how to pick up your shit by now.” Seabs hip checks him and it causes Jonny to flub his careful and complicated layering pattern. “Man, what the fuck?”

Seabs rolls his eyes. “You’re going to eat it, Tazer. It doesn’t have to be pretty. Anyways you don’t usually get this constipated about me leaving clothes on the floor, so what’s really up?”

And there’s that word again, _constipated_ , Jonny wishes he could wipe it from existence. Now every time he thinks about that word he’ll think of the barista – Patrick. Not that Jonny thinks about constipation more than the usual person – or at all really.

“You okay man?” Seabs asks, eyeing Jonny warily. “Are you sick or something?” He takes a step away from Jonny and frowns down at the ingredients they’d both touched.

“I’m not sick,” Jonny mumbles. “Some barista gave me his number.”

Seabs straightens. “Oh shit,” he says, clapping Jonny on the shoulder. “It’s about time, man.”

Jonny shrugs him off. “I’m not going to use it.”

“What?” Seabs asks. “Why wouldn’t you use it?”

The entire interaction with Patrick replays itself in Jonny’s mind and he can feel the heavy weight of embarrassment sink into his stomach. It’d been a disaster from beginning to end. He can’t help but flinch as the memory replays itself.

Seabs is staring at him, when Jonny sees the moment Seabs gets hit with some sort of realization. “Oh,” he whispers. “Was he ugly?”

Jonny can’t help the laugh that escapes him; it shocks both of them and then Seabs is laughing along with him – albeit warily. “No you idiot. He wasn’t ugly.”

“The whole thing was just weird, like, he said I looked constipated.” Jonny shot Seabs a glare when he saw the flash of amusement on his face. “Anyways, he was rude, and the shop made no sense, and like how do you go from ‘wow you look like you haven’t shit in two weeks,’ to ‘oh man I think I want to take you out?’”

“God, Tazer.” Seabs groans and rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. “Do you have to overthink everything?”

Jonny doesn’t justify that with an answer; overthinking is pretty much his thing. Instead, he grabs his plate and makes his way back to the living room. Seabs catches up to him and then they’re both flopping down onto the couch, their limbs jostling and wrestling for space on the two-seater.

“Hey, I wasn’t trying to be a dick. I just think you stand in your own way too much, man. Like. Say it’s a joke – pretty shitty – but you’ll get over it. There’s like a Starbucks on every corner, tons more baristas for you to embarrass yourself in front of –“

Jonny punches him in the thigh.

“Ouch, asshole. Anyways all I’m saying is he probably really did want you to have his number.”

Jonny looks at Seabs, the guy had a point; Jonny was really good at ruining shit for himself. He didn’t know Patrick, but from their brief conversation he didn’t _come off_ like a massive asshole. Jonny sighs. “Yeah maybe I’ll…” he pauses. “Oh shit.”

“What?”

“Oh shit,” Jonny groans and places his head in his hands. “I threw the fucking cup away.”

“Why?”

Jonny just stares at him. “It’s not like I did it on purpose! I finished it, so I chucked it. Well I guess that’s that then.”

“Um, no,” Seabs says. He’s holding his hands in the air, palms up, like Jonny needs to place answers into them. “Just go back into the shop and tell him you’re an idiot and you threw his number away.”

“No! I can’t do that!”

“What the fuck? Why not?”

Jonny jumps up from the couch. “I barely talked to the guy. I can’t just stroll in there like ‘ _I totally threw your number out let’s catch a movie sometime_.’ He’ll think I’m an asshole.”

“You are an asshole,” Seabs deadpans. “At least he’ll know from the beginning.”

Jonny punches him in the shoulder, using his leverage to pack a lot of heat into it, and falls back onto the couch. He picks his plate up from where he’d thrown it on the coffee tables and tears into it. He can feel Seabs watching him but he hopes his full mouth will deter any more conversation. It doesn’t work because Seabs starts talking.

“Just say sorry and get his number.”

“No,” Jonny mutters, eyes trained on the flat screen.

Seabs shakes his head and sighs. “Okay Tazer, whatever.” He grabs the remote and turns the channel to a game. They don’t talk again, both wrapped up in watching the players flit across the screen. When Jonny finishes his sandwich, he stands up, grunts a goodbye and leaves to lock himself in his room for the rest of the night.

 

*

He doesn’t mean to stop in again.

He’s just finished lunch with his friend Brandon and realizes suddenly how close he is to the coffee shop. If he were to cross the street here it’s just be a block the other way. He glances up and down the street weighting briefly the pros and cons of changing his path, but his feet are carrying him over the crosswalk before he’s even fully made up his mind. If Patrick asks him about the phone number then Jonny will tell him the truth. If Patrick doesn’t ask then he’ll just chalk it up to the whole thing being a joke and never return to this side of the city.

Jonny smiles at the familiar warmth of the shop as he pushes through the door; it’s only his second time in, but he understands how easily someone could become a regular here. He glances down at the mat beneath his feet and is surprised to see it’s different from last time. It’s now a drawing of a few coffee mugs on a shelf with the words “99 Bottles of Brew” written underneath the picture. He shakes his head and wonders briefly if Patrick could be the mastermind behind the mats. When he thinks of Patrick his heart begins leaping inside his chest; Jonny’s always found it unsettling when his heart decides to make itself known.

He glances towards the counter and his racing heart sinks into his stomach. Patrick isn’t behind the counter, instead it’s a much taller man with dark hair and eyes. He’s leaning on the counter smiling at a group of women placing an order. The women are laughing at him and tossing their hair so Jonny figures it’s going to be a while.

He spends a few minutes scrolling down his Facebook wall and untagging himself from the numerous posts his mom thinks he’ll be interested in. Jonny loves that his mother found a hobby, but he would _really_ love if she figured out how to tag in the comments. A throat clears in front of him as he’s removing his name from a video discussing homosexuality in the animal kingdom. Jonny forces a smile on his face – even though it feels tight – as he looks up at the barista.

“Welcome to Tall, Dark, and Coffee. How can I help you?” The barista actually pulls off the greeting with a straight face. Jonny just stares opened mouthed at him; Patrick hadn’t greeted him last time and thank God because Jonny really wouldn’t have come back. This place was just an epicenter for every terrible coffee pun. This place was everything that Jonny hated: corny, messy, and inconsistent, and yet… here he stood.

“No way that’s the actual name of this place,” Jonny says. He wasn’t meaning to open with that, but he’s always had a hard time biting his tongue.

The man’s face scrunches and it pulls all over his features in close, his lips almost touching his nose. It’s adorable. Jonny wonders if it’s a requirement for everyone who works here to be unfairly handsome.

“It’s on the sign outside…” The baristas voice drifts off with confusion.

 _Huh_ , Jonny had never even paid attention to anything on the front of the shop. Last time he was freezing to death and this time he was so focused on trying to not focus on seeing Patrick again that he didn’t have the room to pay attention to anything else.

“Oh, okay,” he says.

“So can I –“

“Is Patrick here?” The barista and Jonny had started speaking at the same time, but the man cut off once he realized Jonny was speaking. Jonny rushes out his question and then tries to act casual even with his face beginning to heat.

“Uh,” the man says. “Who?”

Jonny freezes. _Is he in the wrong café?_ He does a quick scan of the room and nope, he’s definitely in the right place. Maybe this guy’s new. “Um, Patrick? Blond, blue eyes, short.” Jonny holds his hand about shoulder height as he’s describing Patrick.

The barista looks at where Jonny’s holding his hand and a flash of recognition lights his face. “Oh,” he says. “You mean Kaner. He has class today.”

“He’s in school?” The question shoots out of him. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised; Patrick seemed to be around his age. Maybe younger, but he was also short and those frizzy curls weren’t helping him any.

The man nods. “Yeah he’s out on Mondays and Wednesdays. But can I get you something?” The barista is nice enough – definitely friendlier than Patrick had been – so Jonny feels bad when his first instinct is to mumble out a “ _no thanks”_ and hightail it out of there. But the barista is smiling softly at him and his large brown eyes make Jonny feel comfortable so he finds himself nodding.

“Give me a sec.”

He glances over the menu, rolling his eyes at some of the more ridiculous combinations: Blistering Demitasse, Amber Joe, and Hyperborean Bean. _Jesus_. He’s about to order another black coffee when he makes his way to the bottom of the board and freezes.

“What is the Valediction?”

He barely registers that he’s asked the question. The words sound garbled and distorted as they spill from his lips; like he’s speaking underwater. That’s how he feels though, like he’s been instantly submerged; his heart and lungs yearning for oxygen. He places a hand on his chest and presses until he can feel bone; the touch grounds him and relieves some of the pressure in his chest.

Corey turns to look at the board. “Oh! Kaner actually renamed that one. It’s what we call black coffee now. You want that?” Corey asks him, completely oblivious to the meltdown currently taking place in front of him.

Patrick, Kaner, whatever his name is, had named a coffee for him. Or because of him. The whole thing feels pretty blatant, like Patrick was expecting him to stop back in. Maybe Patrick was hoping he would. And God, he wishes he’d saved that cup. He suddenly remembers Corey is waiting for a reply. “I’ll take one of those, yeah.”

“Great,” the man claps his hands together quickly and turns away from Jonny to get started on the coffee. Jonny thinks he’s messing with more levers than Patrick, but Jonny had spent more time focusing on the muscles of Patrick’s arms flexing and relaxing than he had on the levers he was using, so it’s possible that he’d missed some.

The coffee is prepared quickly and Corey – per the nametag dangling from his apron – grins as he hands it over. Jonny thinks there’s something odd in the way his lips quirk, as if there’s some secret Jonny isn’t privy too. He’d watched Corey pretty closely so Jonny’s at least grateful that there was no way for him to spit in it. He takes the cup from him and eyes the barista warily. “Thanks,” he says and hands over a five. He dismisses Corey’s attempt to grab him change and then he nods once at the man and turns to leave. He takes a sip once he’s outside and while it’s good, it’s not _as_ good as the one Patrick made him. He pulls the cup away from his mouth, not even stopping the sigh of disappointment that slips from his lips. Words in black lettering just under the lip of the cup catch his eye and he nearly chokes as he reads them.

**Mr. Frowns-a-lot, I told Crow about you. Sorry I wasn’t there this time. Come back Tuesday. – Patrick**

 

*

Jonny doesn’t go back on Tuesday.

*

When Jonny gets out of his class the next Thursday, Seabs is waiting for him. Their paths don’t usually cross as Seabs is majoring in a department that’s building is across campus and he refuses to enroll in courses that start before noon. He’s waiting outside of Jonny’s last class casually leaned against the wall and scrolling on his phone. Jonny admires how Seabs makes everything look so effortless.

Jonny bumps into him when he’s close enough and Seabs’ body barely registers the contact. He pushes off the wall and slaps Jonny on the back of the head in greeting. Jonny rubs the spot on his head and glances around, hoping no one saw. “Thanks for that.”

Seabs laughs; it’s a deep rumbling sound. “You started it.”

“Whatever,” Jonny says. He readjusts the strap on his backpack so it’s no longer threatening to fall off and begins walking down the hallway. Seabs falls in step beside him. “Why are you here?”

“My teacher called off class, but I was already on campus. I figured I’d come find your ugly mug.”

Jonny shoots a glare at Seabs. “Wow, thanks.”

When they exit the building Jonny twists himself away from the cold and closer to Seabs. Seabs scoots away from him – because he’s an asshole.

“You’re a dick.”

“I don’t want your furnace body hanging all over me,” Seabs says.

“If I was a furnace I wouldn’t need you.”

They start towards their apartment and the conversation is light until they get into an argument about whose turn it is to clean the bathroom.

“I cleaned it last week,” Seabs argues.

Jonny stares at him. “Picking up your boxers off of the floor and wiping toothpaste off of the counter isn’t cleaning. That’s just being an adult who picks up after themselves.”

“I’m never putting on those dumb ass gloves.”

“Those dumbass gloves are the only thing keeping your disgusting ass from getting E Coli or some shit.” Jonny has to work not to wag a finger in Seabs’ face. Living with a grown man should not feel this much like looking after a child.

“Unless I suddenly decide to start eating my sandwiches off the bathroom tile, m’pretty sure I’m not getting E Coli.”

Jonny is done with this conversation.

“I’ll clean the fucking bathroom, Brent!” Jonny throws his hands up. “But you’re doing it next time.

“Oh yeah of course,” Seabs says. He stops at the intersection they’re about to cross and taps his chin. “Hey, let’s grab a coffee.”

Jonny raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t you just rant to me for an hour about capitalism and how Starbucks was the downfall of coffee?”

“Well, I don’t want Starbucks. I’m going to support a local venture.”

“Fine,” Jonny sighs. “I think there’s Sharon’s –.” He pauses as he realizes what Seabs is really suggesting. “Fuck you. Absolutely not.”

Seabs just stares at him, unblinking. “Yes.”

Jonny stares back. “No.”

“Yep, come on Tazer.” He grabs Jonny’s arm and pulls him along in the direction of the shop.

“No.” Jonny protests, trying to get his arm back. “Brent, I can’t.”

Seabs rolls his eyes at Jonny and keeps pulling him. “You’ve been moping for a week. I want to know what the big deal is.”

Jonny trails behind Seabs, occasionally trying to tug his arm out of the other man’s grip, but he is unable to free himself of Seabs’ death grip.

“Stop being a baby,” Seabs sighs. “You act like you’re not dying to see this kid again.”

And he is. Dying to see Patrick. He wants to figure out what shade of blue Patrick’s eyes are. And he doesn’t quite remember what Patrick’s voice sounds like and it bothers him more than it should.

He relaxes in Seabs’ grip and lets his friend pull him forward until they’re walking side by side. Seabs knocks his shoulder into Jonny’s. “I have more patience than you give me credit for and we both know I could just lift you.” He wraps his arm around Jonny’s neck and rubs the flat of his knuckles across Jonny’s head.

*

The welcome mat now features an animated mug with hearts for eyes standing next to a speech bubble that reads, “We like You a Latte _.”_ It’s cute.

“This place is super chill.” Seabs says as he looks around. He pulls the beanie off his head and shoves it into his back pocket.

Jonny shrugs his coat off and drapes it over his arm, paying special care to fold it evenly down the middle and center it just right in the crook of his elbow. He can feel Seabs’ dark gaze on him but he keeps his eyes trained on a small piece of lint on the arm of his coat. Seabs gives him a shove and Jonny is so surprised by the sudden push that he looks up.

Patrick is working.

Seabs punches him in the arm and then shuffles over to the front. He leans over the counter and gives the machinery a curious look. “What’s good here?” He asks the back of Patrick’s head.

Patrick startles at the sound, nearly topping over the castle of paper cups he’s assembling. A quick flick of his hands saves the top row from toppling over and he does a small congratulatory fist pump before turning away from his fortress. “Everything’s good, man.” He freezes when he sees Jonny over Seabs’ shoulder and a slow grin works its way across his mouth.

Jonny’s heart stutters at the way the grin creates craters in the side of Patrick’s cheeks.

“Frowny,” Patrick says. “Didn’t know if I’d see you again. Crow told me you asked about me.” He wags his eyebrows, his eyes shining with mirth. Jonny can see he has a small gap in between his front two teeth. He isn’t wearing a hat this time and Jonny wants nothing more than to bury his fingers in the mess of blonde curls.

Patrick runs a hand through his hair – obviously noticing where Jonny’s eyes had focused. “Forgot my hat and Crow refused to bring it to me,” he says, his expression sheepish.

“I think it’s fine without it. Just don’t lose a hair in my coffee and we’re good.”

Patrick moves his hand that was in his hair to rub at the back of his neck and then he’s smiling wide at Jonny and looking at him from underneath his eyelashes. Jonny stares back at him, unable to stop himself from studying every inch of Patrick’s face. He realizes Patrick has a third dimple in his chin. God, this man was something else. He’s working on figuring out the right color to call Patrick’s eyes when Seabs clears his throat loudly behind them.

Patrick unfreezes and drops his arm, turning to Seabs. “Sorry man. What can I get you?”

He turns away to watch Seabs scan the menu quickly, as lost as Jonny was his first visit. “You got hot chocolate?”

“Yeah,” Patrick chuckles. “It’s called Scalding Snuff-Colored Confection.”

“Goodness,” Jonny breathes. “Who comes up with these names?”

Patrick shrugs. “We get suggestions from everywhere; customers, the owners, the employees.”

“But how does anyone ever know what they’re ordering?” Jonny asks.

Patrick grabs a coffee cup and a marker. His tongue pokes out the side of his mouth as he writes on Seabs’ cup. “That’s the fun part, Frowny.”

Jonny can feel Seabs’ gaze on him and he turns to look at him. The other man is mouthing _Frowny_ , at him. Jonny thinks there’s both a question and an insult in that. He briefly contemplates kicking Seabs in the shin, but then Patrick is talking again.

“Actually,” Patrick says, messing with a different machine than he used last time. “Let me make you something.”

“Um,” Jonny hesitates.

Seabs elbows him – not subtlety – and Patrick giggles, hand-to-God _giggles_. Jonny’s smiling wide and goofy as he rubs at the spot where Seabs dug in.

“Okay,” Jonny says. “But it has to be gluten free.”

“Oh,” Patrick says with a small shake of his head. “You’re one of those.”

“Nah,” Seabs interrupts. “That shit really messes him up.”

“Okay, fine. No gluten.” Pat pauses with the marker in his hand barely touching the side of the plastic cup he’s holding. He glances at Jonny quickly and then back at the cup. “But um… I’m going to need a name so there’s no mix up.” The words come out kind of rushed as if he’s nervous.

Jonny smirks. “Frowny doesn’t work for you?”

“It works just fine, but you know my name so I think it’s only fair that I know yours.”

“Jonny.”

“Jonny.” Patrick repeats the name, testing it out in his mouth. Jonny watches enraptured as Patrick’s forms the name. Jonny doesn’t know if the movement is exaggerated or if Patrick just says everything with all the emotion he can muster. Jonny hopes Patrick doesn’t put that much effort into anyone else’s name, hopes his tongue doesn’t linger on the edge of his teeth for anyone else. “Okay. Let me make these up for you guys.”

Patrick finished Seabs’ drink and pulls another coffee cup from the top of his fortress to get started on Jonny’s. He makes quick work of writing on Jonny’s cup and then he’s back to work. Jonny just watches him, he has no idea what Patrick is doing or what ingredients he’s using, but he’s mesmerized by the way Patrick moves. He looks at the side of Patrick’s face, his eyes trace over the features that were hidden by the brim of his hat last time. There’s a small bump near the tip of Patrick’s nose and the tip is turned up just slightly. Jonny wants to nuzzle it with his own. He watches as Patrick licks his lips every three seconds and thinks about how much Chap Stick he must go through, with the way he abuses them. He’s so glad his thoughts are private, but Seabs’ is smirking at him like he knows exactly what Jonny is thinking. Whatever - if Seabs knew Jonny wanted to Eskimo kiss Patrick, he’d start chirping him in the middle of the shop.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when Patrick places their cups down on the counter. “Here you are.”

Seabs pulls out a ten and hands it to Patrick and waves off the attempt for change. Patrick watches as each of them tastes their drink and smiles when the reactions are positive.

Jonny’s drink is _something_. It’s creamy and there may be cinnamon, but also he thinks he tastes caramel. Its warmth and home and long days spent under the covers while it’s snowing outside.“This is amazing, Patrick.”

Seabs is practically making out with his cup when Jonny looks over at him. So, he decides it’s time to get them out of there. He thanks Patrick again and then shoves Seabs towards the door.

“Wait,” Patrick calls behind them.

Jonny stops and turns to look at him, for a brief second it occurs to him that Patrick might ask about the number. Jonny gulps and weakly asks, “Yeah?”

“Um,” Patrick says, the tips of his ears turning pink. “You’ll come back, yeah?”

Jonny can’t help the dumb smile at Patrick’s blush. He feels his own heat creep into his cheeks, but he keeps his eyes trained on the other man’s. “I’ll be back.”

Seabs says, “Okay Terminator,” but low enough that Jonny is the only one who hears it. He elbows Seabs in the ribs and throws a small wave at Patrick before he pushes Seabs through the door.

Jonny sips at his drink as they walk home, wanting it to last as long as possible. He’s gulping it down when he sees Seabs’ eyebrows raise in surprise. He lowers the cup and looks at Seabs questioningly.

“You got a message there, Tazer.” Seabs says, gesturing to Jonny’s cup.

Jonny turns the cup quickly and then he’s grinning like an absolute idiot at the message Patrick left him. He’d written _Frowny_ marked it out and written _Jonny_ right beside it.

Under that is: **I call this one Chestnut Simper. You have really nice eyes. – Patrick**

*****

Jonny really wishes that he’d kept Patrick’s number, or that he’d been gifted with photographic memory.

The weekend passes slowly and all he can think about is getting back to the coffee shop as soon as possible. He wants to see Patrick, wants to talk to him, wants to hear Patrick say his name again – low and a little breathy like he’s on the edge of a laugh. Jonny’s been interested in other people before, dated as much as anyone else his age, but he’s never wanted to know someone like this.

His body is practically humming by the time Monday rolls around. He’s sprinting out of his last class quickly trying to decide the fastest route possible, but then he remembers Corey saying Patrick has classes on Mondays and he deflates. He sulks all the way back to his apartment, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets and his shoulders hunched. He probably looks pathetic, but everyone on the sidewalk gives him a wide berth, so he doesn’t even attempt to straighten himself out.

He has trouble sleeping that night, his mind cycling over everything he could possibly say to Patrick tomorrow. He finally settles down when Seabs bangs on the wall connecting their rooms and screams, “Stop fucking jumping around some people are trying to _God damn sleep_ , asshole.”

He flips Seabs off, even if his roommate can’t see it, it makes Jonathan feel better. He stops his impromptu work out session and collapses onto his bed; he lies there unable to turn his mind off, his brain playing an infinite loop of _Patrick Patrick Patrick_.

He only has one class on Tuesdays and it’s the longest hour and a half he’s ever sat through. He practically runs out of the classroom and when he’s finally on his way to the shop he can’t help the smile that twists his mouth.

Patrick is leaning on the counter – a pen in his mouth – and a textbook in front of him, when Jonny walks through the door. Patrick doesn’t look up when the bell rings as if he’s completely tuned the sound out.

“What’s your major?” Jonny asks as he approaches the other man.

Patrick looks up at him and the pen falls gracelessly out of his mouth. A drop of spit follows it and lands on the page of his textbook and Jonny isn’t even grossed out. He finds the whole moment incredibly charming. It’s disgusting.

Patrick wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then smiles at him. “Elementary Education. You?”

Jonny has to think about the question he posed for a second – mind still cycling on the pen falling from Patrick’s mouth – before answering. “Physical therapy,” he finally manages.

Patrick nods his head and his curls bounce along with the motion. Jonny enjoys the way his curls have a mind of their own. “Makes sense I think,” Patrick says. “Anyways, hey! It didn’t take you as long this time.”

Jonny wonders what Patrick meant by _makes sense_ but he decides not to push the issue. “No,” Jonny answers and then with a sudden surge of bravery says, “I wanted to stop in Monday, but Corey said you have classes.”

Patrick grins wide, his dimples on display and his tongue pressed against his bottom teeth. Jonny is floored by Patrick’s unfiltered happiness and astounded by how much he wants to make Patrick always look like that. “Yeah I do,” Patrick says. “I’m here on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and every other Saturday.”

“That’s not a lot of hours,” Jonny says, frowning.

“I don’t really need them,” Patrick shrugs. “I just really like it here. Plus, I coach on Fridays.”

“Coach what?” Jonny asks.

“Hockey.”

“No shit! I joined an intermural league before school got too crazy. You ever catch a game?” He asks, referring to their local team.

“When I have extra time and money,” Patrick chuckles. “So, like once a year.”

“Oh,” Jonny says and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans; ducking head before he asks, “well maybe we could go some time.” He glances up quickly to gauge Patrick’s reaction.

Patrick is trying to contain his smile by biting one edge of his bottom lip into his mouth, but he can’t really hide the way his eyes have brightened.

“I’d make time for that,” Patrick finally answers.

Jonny gives Patrick his own smile, he can feel his face scrunching with the force of it. Jonny imagines the smile is pretty dopey looking, but he doesn’t really care. Patrick makes him really happy too. “Okay.”

“So, you want to test out another drink?” Patrick asks after they’ve stared at each other for too long.

“Yes, please,” Jonny answers too quickly. “The last one was amazing. I was actually sad when I finished it. Seabs chirped me for three days.”

Patrick laughs at him as he pulls a clear cup from underneath the counter. “I would have done the same. You could have just had Crow make you it, I write down all my recipes.”

“Thanks,” he says. “But it wouldn’t taste as good as yours.”

“I’m a master brewer,” Patrick smirks. “What can I say”

“I’m not even going to entertain you. That was lame.”

“Because not letting Crow remake a coffee you really liked isn’t.” Patrick is challenging him, it shows in his eyes. They’re lowered a little and his mouth is quirked up in the corner.

“Well,” Jonny says. “You’ve got magic hands.” He means for it to come out firmer, but they turn weak at the end. Jonny imagines Patrick’s hands flitting over the different dials and knobs of the machine; he thinks about how large and elegant they are, and it pulls the breath from his lungs.

A blush raises high on Patrick’s face and the way he pulls his mouth in makes his dimples pop. “Okay,” he says. “So something new?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He’s surprised to see Patrick at a different machine – on the other end from the coffee brewer – it looks like a giant industrial blender. Patrick never glances over at Jonny as he works. He tosses in different fruits, ice, and what Jonny assumes is some type of fruit juice, into the blender. When Patrick places the drink in front of him Jonny’s quick to snatch it up. He gulps it down so fast he’s left with a brain freeze that causes him to wince and press his hands on his head.

“Slow down there bud,” Patrick says, working not to laugh.

Jonny just waves him off and takes another tentative sip of his drink. “How do you do this? It’s really fucking good.”

Patrick laughs breathily and ducks his head. “Thanks, man.”

Jonny is smiling at the top of Patrick’s head when he hears the whoosh of the door opening. He turns to look at the customer and sees it’s a group of people chatting and making their way over to the counter. Patrick glances at them and then back at Jonny with a look on his face that Jonny can’t quite decipher. He thinks it means Patrick doesn’t want him to go – and Jonny has no desire to leave – so he jerks a thumb over to one of the empty tables near the back to let him know where he’ll be sitting. Patrick’s face clears, and he smiles at Jonny, giving him a small wave as he turns to greet the incoming customers.

Once he’s seated he decides to get a head start on next week’s assignments, having already finished this week’s. He pulls his laptop out and spends the next couple of hours outlining a short essay.

He’s digging his fingers into his temples, staring at his screen and trying to think of ways to bullshit a hundred more words to hit the word limit, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He looks up from his screen to see Patrick softly smiling down at him.

Pat kicks his foot into Jonny’s. “I’m done for today,” he says. “Do you want to grab lunch?”

“Lunch,” Jonny repeats. He looks at the time on the bottom of his screen and is surprised to see its well past noon. He glances past Patrick to the counter and sees Corey has already made himself comfortable behind it. The other barista catches Jonny looking at him and waves. Jonny returns it before gathering his things. “Sorry! Yeah, lunch sounds great.”

When they’re out on the street, Patrick tucks his arm into Jonny’s and leads them down the sidewalk. He claims there’s a great Vietnamese place around the corner. Jonny leans into Patrick as they walk, soaking up his heat.

“You’re like a heater man,” Patrick says.

“Oh sorry,” Jonny murmurs, trying to create some distance between them – without unlinking their arms. “Seabs always complains about me being too hot.”

Pat pulls him back in. “Nah, its fine. I’m always cold – so it works.”

They stomp out the snow from their boots when they make it inside the restaurant. It’s a small place with booths along the wall and a few tables scattered in the middle. Patrick walks to one of the booths and sits down on the split red vinyl. Jonny shrugs off his coat and lays it on the back of the seat before he sits across from Patrick. He watches as Patrick takes off his beanie, his curls springing out in every direction. Patrick runs a hand through his hair self-consciously, fruitlessly trying to tame it.

“I like when they’re a little crazy like that,” Jonny says, eyes still trained on Patrick’s hair.

Patrick scoffs, but takes his hands away from his head. “Says everyone who’s never has curls. But thanks.”

A waitress comes over and places menus in front of them before asking for their drink orders. They both get water and Jonny watches as she scurries back towards the kitchen. He glances over the menu and sees pho. He already feels warmer just thinking about it. When the waitress comes back he places an order for chicken pho and Patrick asks for the banh mi and an order of spring rolls.

The conversation is slow and involves a lot of awkward laughing and fumbled eye contact and Jonny begins ripping up the napkin that was wrapped around his silverware. He rolls the small scraps of paper into little balls and piles them on the table. Patrick just sits silently across from him. When their food arrives, Jonny occupies himself with getting his broth seasoned to his liking and then dumping the noodles and bean sprouts into the bowl. He can feel Patrick staring at him, so he looks up.

“Is that good?” Patrick asks.

“Yeah,” Jonny answers. “You want to try?”

Patrick shrugs, and nods his head. So, Jonny scoops up some chicken, noodles, and a good amount of broth in the oversized spoon they’ve given him and lifts it towards Patrick. He blows on the soup for a second and then wraps his mouth around it. The action sends a sharp jolt into the bottom of Jonny’s stomach and he can’t help the sharp burst of breath that leaves his mouth.

Patrick swallows, licks his lips, and then smirks at Jonny – his blue eyes filled with mischief. Jonny colors at the attention and turns his focus back to the bowl in front of him.

Patrick begins chewing loudly on his spring rolls and it breaks the tension. When Jonny looks up Patrick has a noodle hanging down his chin and a ridiculous grin on his face. Jonny laughs at him and pulls the noddle, snapping it off. Patrick finishes chewing and then laughs with him. Lunch is a lot less awkward after that.

They talk about everything and Jonny feels equally like his hunger for knowledge has been satiated and worsened. Jonny feels desperate to learn everything that makes Patrick tick. They talk about school. Pat’s attending the local community college, which is why Jonny has never seen him around campus. Patrick tells him about his three sisters and Jonny watches mesmerized as Patrick’s speech becomes more animated as he’s describing each of them. Patrick’s childhood seemed fun, but Jonny’s glad to have only one brother. The conversation even turns to hockey at one point; Patrick and Jonny getting into a heated debate about the merits of shootout goals.

“They’re unfair,” Jonny argues. “They’re all flash and it puts unfair pressure on the goalie.”

Patrick wags his eyebrows at him. “Some people like a little flash, Jonny.”

The waitress has to practically force them out of their booth; they’ve sat for so long. Jonny makes sure to leave her a larger tip than he usually would. Outside, Patrick tugs his beanie back over his curls and Jonny misses them immediately. He can’t help pouting at the space they used to fill.

“What’s that for?” Patrick asks gesturing towards Jonny’s mouth.

“I like your curls.”

Patrick blushes. “Oh my god, shut up.”

Jonny smirks and moves into Patrick’s space, reaching for the beanie on top of the other man’s head. “They’re so –.”

“Shut up!” Patrick pushes him away.

The darkness of the beanie makes his eyes pop though and Jonny can’t help but be mesmerized by them. He isn’t thinking when he raises his finger to trace underneath one of them.

“You have nice eyes too,” he whispers into the limited space between them.

Patrick licks his lips and leans into the hand on his face. Jonny’s going to kiss him.

The ringing of a cellphone makes them jump apart from one another. They both reach down towards their pockets, but it’s Patrick’s phone that is ringing. Patrick digs in the pocket of his pants for his phone and when he sees whose calling he mouths _mom_ at Jonny. Jonny takes out his own phone to give Patrick some privacy.

Patrick smiles slightly at him before turning to the side and raising his phone to his ear. “Hey mom,” he says; his voice is soft and warm with affection.

Patrick gives his full attention to what his mom is saying to him. Jonny watches the side of Patrick’s face, his phone completely forgotten. Patrick’s eyes stay focused on the street in front of him and he keeps one corner of his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

“I knew she was competitive, but that seems a little drastic,” Patrick says.

Jonny chuckles and Patrick looks at him. Jonny just smiles wider at the other man and is warmed when Patrick returns the gesture.

“Hey mom,” he interrupts the tiny voice on the other end of the line. “I’m kind of in the middle of something, but I’ll call you back when I’m home.”

Whatever his mother replies has Patrick’s neck flushing and he quickly turns his back to Jonny. “Not now mom,” he whispers into the phone. He hangs up with a quick _love you too_ and turns back to face Jonny.

“Well,” Jonny says. “That sounded interesting.”

Patrick’s expression turns sheepish. “Yeah, some drama about the chili cook off back in Buffalo.”

“Oh man,” Jonny laughs. “Sounds serious.”

“So,” Patrick says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “This was really nice.”

“Yeah, I – we should do it again sometime,” Jonny mentally kicks himself for the small stutter in his reply.

Patrick smiles up at Jonny and then punches him lightly in the arm. “Definitely.”

*

On one of Patrick’s off days Jonny gets Corey to tell him about the nicknames. He’s only ever heard Corey refer to Patrick as Kaner and he wonders if maybe that’s what he prefers.

So the next day when Patrick’s working behind the counter Jonny greets him with a “Hey Kaner.”

Patrick stares at him. “Why are you calling me Kaner?”

“I asked Corey about it and he said that’s what everyone calls you.”

Patrick rolls his tongue across his bottom lip. “Everyone does call me Kaner, but I like that _you_ call me Patrick.”

“Oh,” Jonny gulps. “I – okay. Well that’s – yeah, okay I can do that. Yep.”

He laughs quietly at Jonny’s stuttering. “Good.”

“Well I’ll just –,” he gestures to his usual table in the back.

Patrick has to work a double that day, Corey having taken off for some impromptu art performance in a park. Jonny will never understand art majors. Patrick tells Jonny there’s no need to wait for him the entire day, but Jonny doesn’t mind. He has plenty to work on to finished up his finals and he always likes watching Patrick move effortlessly and gracefully behind the counter.

He puts the final touches on his project with Mark; the two of them ended up splitting the work down the middle. His work lasts him through half of Patrick’s shift and he can’t help the giddy smile that twists his face when Patrick sits down across from him for lunch.

Patrick only gets a half hour today, having to keep a close eye on the counter. Luckily, the shop remains quiet as Patrick powers through a sandwich and a strawberry smoothie.

“You make that yourself?” Jonny asks him.

Patrick takes a minute to answer his eyes trained on a spot just over Jonny’s shoulder. When Jonny turns to see what Patrick’s looking at the movement snaps the other man out of his daze. He asks Jonny to repeat himself.

“Oh,” Patrick says. “No, it’s a premade thing.”

Jonny hums at him. Patrick seems like of on edge today; Jonny hopes the nickname mishap hadn’t set him off. They don’t speak for the rest of Patrick’s break, but they smile softly at each other when their eyes meet.

When Patrick returns to his place behind the counter, Jonny opens Netflix on his laptop and starts _The Office_ for the seventh time. He figures it’s tame enough to watch in public. Jonny is startled when Patrick turns off the lights at the front of the shop; he hadn’t even noticed Patrick closing down the shop. He packs his laptop and headphones into his backpack and lays it beside the door so he can help Patrick stack the chairs on top of the tables. They work quietly, but it’s comfortable, even if Patrick still seems a little tense.

When they’re done they dress quickly in their winter gear and then Patrick is shuffling Jonny out of the door and locking up behind him. Patrick shoves his hands into his pockets and walks beside Jonny, his eyes trained on the tracks in the snow below them. Jonny presses himself closer to Patrick. He thinks about looping their arms together, but he doesn’t quite know if he’s allowed to; he bites his tongue to still his temptation to ask the other man what’s bothering him.

They reach the end of the block and Jonny is turns to say goodbye to Patrick, but stops when he sees Patrick is worrying at his bottom lip.

“I don’t know how you still have those on your face,” Jonny comments, gesturing towards Patrick’s lips, he tamps down the urge to pull Patrick’s bottom lip free from his relentless teeth. “They should have just leapt off in protest at this point.”

Patrick huffs a short laugh, but he still isn’t looking at Jonny. His head is turned away, Jonny can only make out the side of his face, and from this angle his blue eyes look nearly black. Jonny stares at him, but Patrick refuses to look back. “Okay, Patrick. What’s going on?”

Patrick sighs and burrows himself deeper into his coat. He finally glances up on Jonny but the eye contact is brief and he is quick to lower his eyes down to his feet. “Why didn’t you ever call me?” He finally asks, shuffling his feet in the snow.

_Oh._

Jonny waits until Patrick looks up at him again before responding. “This is going to sound dumb, but I threw the cup away.” It’s his turn to look away from Patrick. He focuses on the shapes Patrick’s feet have made in the snow. When Patrick is silent for a long time, Jonny forces himself to look at the other man’s face. There’s a small wrinkle in the middle of Patrick’s eyebrows and Jonny wants to smooth it out for him; the wrinkle deepens under Jonny’s gaze.

“You threw it away?” Patrick asks – his voice small.

“No,” Jonny grabs Patrick’s shoulders and shakes him. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I saw your number and I freaked out and then I wasn’t thinking and threw the cup away.” He pauses and squeezes Patrick’s shoulders. “I’ve regretted it ever since.”

Patrick’s face is still pinched, as if Jonny’s speaking a different language. “So why didn’t you just ask me for it again?”

Jonny chuckles and shakes his head, raising his to the sky quickly, before lowering his head and zeroing in on Patrick’s face. “Because I’m an idiot.”

Patrick smiles and curls his hands around Jonny’s wrists; he pulls Jonny’s hands from his shoulders, tangles their hands together in front of them and tugs Jonny closer. “A massive one,” he whispers.

Jonny just shrugs and applies pressure to where their hands are tangled. Patrick slips his fingers from Jonny’s and straightens, crowding into Jonny’s space. He lifts his hands to Jonny’s beanie, curls his fingers around the edges of it, and tugs until it’s covering Jonny’s ears. “You’re wearing this wrong.”

Before Jonny can retort Patrick kisses him. He kisses him with his hands still gripping Jonny’s beanie and their noses bright red from the cold. Jonny melts into the way Patrick moves his mouth over his. He pulls Patrick’s full bottom lip into his mouth and can’t help the sigh that escapes him; he’s wanted to do that since the first time Patrick smirked at him. He brings his hands to tangle in the curls that are sticking out from Patrick’s beanie and pulls him closer, Patrick’s arms fall from Jonny’s beanie to wrap around Jonny’s waist. Jonny loses track of time, nothing as important as the way Patrick’s lips feel under his.

When they break apart Jonny leans his forehead against Patrick’s. “I should have told you sooner.”

Patrick whispers something that sounds like _no shit_ , before he pulls Jonny’s mouth back to his.


End file.
